1.  Hand Prints

2.  Footsteps

3.  Hand Outs

We did a bit better today, although writing this in the evening, me on the sofa, and The Man on His Chair, we are pale, fatter, worn out shadows of our BC selves.  Son 2 aged 2 woke in the night wailing for Mummy. I have decided he can’t have Mummy, Daddy is his reward for antisocial behaviour, so off trogged The Man to sort him out. And then Son 1 aged 5 arrived in The Big Bed. It was 8am before anyone tipped me out of bed, which is a Good Thing. “Can we get Granny now?” asked Son 1, the moment his eyes snapped open.  He swiftly moved on to the plaster-of-paris handprint kits I gave both Son 1 and Son 2 for their birthdays. After breakfast, I said, sternly. You make a mould, and then pour plaster in, and then lo, a spooky Pompeii-style memento of the size your child used to be. Well I like them. And so does Son 1.   And they were cheap in TK Maxx. We messed up the first kit by spreading the gel too thin. And decided to make two out of Son 2’s. Son 1 sat, Perfect Child, his hand absolutely still, flat in the gel. Son 2 cried at having to keep his hand still. So we tried his foot. He cried. The gel crept up his fat little thigh.  We tried his hand again. He crumbled the rapidly-setting gel material in his hand.  He crumbled his mould, and then poured water from the jug in.   It was a craft material. We let him get on with it.  Later, ready to collect Granny from the Airport, the kitchen was spotless, and Son 2 was wearing the latest outfit she’d sent him.  While we were still tidying frantically elsewhere, he climbed up to and opened the plaster-of-paris packet from the handprint kit, sending stiff white powder down his Sunday best and all over the kitchen. I texted this to his Godmother, who has finally been released from hospital.  “I love Son 2,” she texted back. “You can buy him on eBay,” I replied. 

We had a coffee at the Airport while we were waiting for Granny’s plane. And then saw her, trailing forlornly outside, pulling her case on wheels. Oops. The Man and I are veterans of the Airport in the days when the sound of planes landing shook the paint off the tinpot terminal walls and rattled the fillings in your teeth.  It’s all got a bit bigger since then.  Son 1 and Son 2 were skipping with delight to see her. We played Spot The Yellow Car all the way home, with Granny proving almost as good as Son 1. A cup of tea, then lunch, and then we walked into The Town. Son 1 was still pingponging off the walls, and I decided we needed to Burn His Energy Off. He did very well, walking the 3/4 mile down to The Square and then some on the way back.  Climbing up onto every railing, going up and down every step, round and round every column, under every cycle rail and up onto every flat surface offering King Of The Castle potential.  It’s a form of Free Running. Only much, much, much slower.

I made Fish and Chips for tea, Sea Bass I bought from the fishmonger’s yesterday, home-made chips and peas. I was five minutes from landing when friends called round. They’d bought a jacket on ebay for their 3 year old. It was too big, but beautiful. Did we want it for Son 1 for the winter? Ooh yes please. And an unwanted bimini someone was throwing out, which they’d thought we’d like for The Boat.  “Bim bimini, Bim bimini,” sang The Man.  He’s got a great line in malapropism.  “Sit!” he said to Son 2.  “You sound like you’re training a dog,” I said. “I know. I feel like Mary Whitehouse sometimes.” “Do you mean Barbara Wodehouse?”" “Same thing.” Son 1, Son 2 and 3 year old played in the garden.  We drank and chatted. Our friends left. Tea was late.  Bedtime was late.  Oh well, only 2 weeks till half term. We can all have a bit of a rest then.

1.  A lie-in

2. Flesh and blood

3. Captain Hook

The good news is I got a lie in this morning because Son 2 aged 11m didn’t wake up till 8am.   However.  He slept in because he was up for HOURS.  He’s got Son 1 aged 3y 11m’s cough.  He doesn’t seem to have the fever, but he’s still very uncomfortable. I wish I could be a bit more forgiving at 4am when I’ve been up since 6am the previous day.  But I kissed him, dumped in his cot, said bye bye, closed the door so I couldn’t hear the ROOAARR and went downstairs.  I made a cup of tea, wrote some birthday cards, copied out Son 1’s New Nursery dates onto the calendar, hung out some washing, drank my tea, went back upstairs… And he’d stopped crying and gone to sleep.  

I fed Son 2 while Son 1 hopped up and down, trying to cuddle his brother, trying to get on my knee, trying to do anything to get attention.  “Why don’t you tell daddy not to empty the dishwasher till he’s brought my coffee up?”  I suggested, helpfully, thinking that would send him padding down 2 flights of stairs.  Son 1 walked to the top of Flight 2.  “DADDEEE. DON’T EMPTY THE DISHWASHER.”  Then there were little sorry-for-himself whining noises from the landing.  Back in he hopped, blood all over his hands, streaming from his nose.  Are there any other children who give themselves really bad nosebleeds by shouting?  It’s his second one in four days, and the other one was caused by a high-pitched shriek.  I suppose I should be grateful he hasn’t shattered any glassware yet.

My ebay bid was a flop, because after I got outbid, I couldn’t work out how to top the higher bid that kept appearing.  I have consulted a Young Thing at The Office who explained what I needed to do.  (”It’s easy.  My husband and I went on a diving holiday last year from the money we made on eBay.”)  Anyway.  The object of my heart’s desire was a Captain Hook outfit, aged 3- 4.  I ordered it full price on Sunday and it arrived today.  I had to let Son 1 try it on to … see if it fits.  He looked fantastic, and he was just so happy.  Bouncing on the bed in it, looking in the mirror.  “Ha-harr.  Give me the treasure lady.”  I gave Son 2 a toy sword, and he gave his huge grin and held it out to touch Son 1’s.  And then whacked me round the head with it, laughing.  He has spent his entire infancy watching Son 1 fencing using swords, sticks, dracaena leaves, wrapping-paper middles, lolly sticks, pencils… So of course he knew exactly what to do when he finally got a toy sword in his little baby fist…     

1.  The Bug

2.  The Tug

3.  The Bid

Rubbish night with both Son 1 aged 3 y 11m and Son 2 aged 11m.  Son 1 had a fever and we had to Ibuprofen him at some godless time in the night.  Son 2 had a cough and was uncomfortable.  I went in with him, then heard a very  upset Son 1 so put The Man in with Son 2, and took Son 1 upstairs.  He really wasn’t well.  A cough like a seal with croup, skin burning all over and weirdie wideawake dreams.  “Mummy, take my nappy off.”  He hasn’t worn a nappy in nearly a year.  

So. Day 2 at the New Nursery and I had to ring to say we were keeping him home. The Man looked after him - I had to go in to The Office. I rang The Man’s mobile at lunchtime. He’d taken Son 1 to work and he’d just lay on some cushions on the floor watching telly.  Pang. “I just want to be with you, Mummy.”  Pang. I had something complicated and important at The Office, scheduled for late afternoon.  Of course, it ended up happening even later.  It went well, which is actually A Good Thing, but I was very late picking up Son 2 and getting home.   Pang. Pang. Pang.  However.  A Counter-Pang.  Son 2’s Nursery Nurse said he’d had a good day.  “We were all just saying how much he’s grown in how he is here, and how much better he is now than he was at the start.”  Hooray hooray hooray.  

Guess what else.  I have bid for something on eBay.  Yes I know everyone else on the planet has been members since 2002 and you’ve all got 12000 stars, spotless feedback and £100,000 turnovers.  But I haven’t.   My New Year Resolution was to start selling off the clutter silting up the house by the end of January.  And I didn’t. I pulled out some bits and bobs and prammed them down to Oxfam instead.   But I’ve set up a PayPal account… not entirely sure how that’s going to work but they’re wading in and out of my bank account so something’s going on.  And I finally decided that I could commit to a 99p bid.  I am sure Wonder Nanny can sort me out if it doesn’t work.  I am so My Mother.